


Roll of the Dice

by skieswideopen



Category: Covert Affairs
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/pseuds/skieswideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan learned a lot from Lena Smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll of the Dice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cgb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgb/gifts).



> This story touches briefly on the 1998 bombings of the U.S. embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam. Those incidents are not addressed in detail, but anyone disturbed by the mention of real life tragedies may wish to skip this.
> 
> Thank you to brightknightie for the excellent beta job!

**Langley, 2012**

Auggie caught Joan in the elevator, sliding in at the last minute (how did he do that?), barring her from any chance of escape.

"What do you know about Lena Smith?" he asked as the elevator started to rise.

"I take it you heard." A delaying tactic, not a genuine question. Of course he'd heard. If there were one thing Auggie Anderson could be counted on to do, it was to keep tabs on Annie.

"That Annie's been assigned to her division? I heard.”

His tone was casual, but she could hear the underlying concern. She wondered just what Auggie had heard about Lena, beyond the obvious. Probably more than he should have; Auggie had a talent for ferreting out information, even more than most intelligence agents.

"It will be a good experience for her," Joan said calmly, as if she hadn't started worrying herself the moment she heard the news. "Lena's an excellent operative and a good mentor. Annie could learn a lot from her."

"I know, I know. Youngest-ever recipient of the Intelligence Cross. Bright shining star of the Agency."

"Well, then--"

"Have you ever noticed how many of Lena's ops ended with her coming back covered in glory, and other people not coming back at all?"

Trust Auggie to spot that. "Lena doesn't generally go into the field anymore. So that shouldn't be a problem."

"She still runs dangerous ops."

"Auggie, all of our work is dangerous."

"Not like that," he said.

"No," Joan agreed reluctantly. "Not like that. But Annie's good. She'll be fine."

"Sure," Auggie said. The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Auggie stepped forward, then paused, still facing the exit. "You worked with Lena for a while, didn't you? Would you say you learned a lot from her?"

Joan drew in a deep breath. Remembered. "Oh, more than you know."

 

**Nairobi, 1996**

The party was well-attended. The embassy reception suite was packed with minor functionaries and attachés from assorted embassies, consulates, and government agencies, which made it the perfect environment for covert operatives who wanted to observe without drawing undue attention to themselves. Joan had already made a pass through the room, champagne glass in hand, and was preparing to join a conversation that would have placed her within earshot of the ambassador from Saudi Arabia when an attractive, dark-haired woman intercepted her.

"Joan Campbell?"

Joan paused smoothly, offering the woman a neutral smile as she tried to place her. "Yes?"

The woman held out her hand. "Lena Smith. It's nice to finally meet you."

Long practice kept her surprise off Joan's face. She had heard stories about Lena Smith, of course. The operations. The risks. The ego. It was hard not to when you were posted to the same continent; doubly so when you were both ambitious women of roughly the same age in a domain where female field operatives tended to be thin on the ground. Comparisons were inevitable. Joan knew she came up short when it came to flashy finishes and big payoffs. On the other hand, Lena wasn't known for her patience or attention to detail. And there was the ego.

Joan let her smile warm a shade as she shook Lena's hand. She kept her voice low. "Lena! I've heard so much about you. We should really sit and have a talk some time."

Lena's answering smile was fierce and not at all embassy-polite. "How about right now?"

"Now?" Joan arched a manicured eyebrow and cast a significant look around the room. Lena's smile widened.

"Come on," she said softly. "We both know nothing important is going to happen here tonight. It's the American embassy; they're _expecting_ us to listen in. The only things anyone is going to say are the things they want us to hear." Her expression shifted from smiling to serious. "Let's go talk."

Joan hesitated a moment, rapidly calculating whether her absence would be noticed, then nodded. "All right." She'd already tagged her one new counterpart on her first pass through the room (and noted a number of other familiar faces from previous events), and while it wasn't quite true that no one ever said anything important at an American embassy party--there was a well-stocked bar, for one thing--it was rare that a junior CIA operative was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to overhear the odd significant comment. Chances were she wouldn't miss anything important--certainly nothing as fascinating as finding out why Lena Smith wanted to talk to _her_.

Joan had planned to steer them to a nearby hotel--one of the few places in Nairobi where she knew they could get a decent cup of coffee--but outside the embassy, Lena immediately turned the other way. Curious, Joan followed her.

"Are you in Nairobi for long?"

"As long as they leave me here," Lena said. "I'm replacing Paul. Well, officially, anyway."

"And unofficially?"

Lena grinned. "Well, let's just say I'm not planning to spend all my time in the city. But it'll do as a base of operations."

Joan had heard that about Lena too.

"You know, it's criminal the way they're under-using you," Lena said as they rounded a corner.

"I'm just doing my job."

"Then that's your problem right there. No one ever gets ahead by doing only what they're told, Joan."

"No, but you don't get ahead by breaking the rules either."

"That depends on your results," Lena said. She stopped in front of a small bar Joan vaguely recognized and led the way inside. Joan followed, grateful that they'd stopped to change before leaving the embassy.

"The ends justify the means?" Joan teased as they hunted for seats.

"Sure," Lena said easily. "Just as long as you don't start any wars."

The bar was too crowded to allow them to speak privately, so they switched to less sensitive topics--places they'd both been, home sports teams, careful, coded talk of people they both knew. Joan watched Lena carefully through it all, trying to get a feel for her. The stories, she decided, didn't do Lena justice. Even chatting over beer, there was an intensity to her that made her compelling, a charisma that drew Joan in despite herself. She could see why Lena had such success in cultivating assets. Some people would probably do a great deal to earn that look of approval.

It was clear by the end of the first ten minutes that this wasn't just a casual visit, one field agent to another. Lena wanted something from Joan, and while she didn't seem to be in a rush, she wasn't bothering to try to hide her intentions either. On the way back, Joan wasn't at all surprised when Lena stopped just before they reached the embassy, touched Joan's arm, and said, "Listen, I'm putting together an operation. We're going after some intel on a local terrorist network with roots in Baku. I want you on board."

Joan shivered under Lena’s gaze. She'd met politicians who could do the same thing, make whoever they were speaking to feel like the only person in the world. Knowing how it worked diluted its effectiveness only a little. "What makes you think I'm the right person for this?"

"I heard what you did in Cameroon."

"I don't--"

"You took on three armed thugs and walked away with major intel. And then Gorman handed it over to Baker as if he'd been the one working the case all along."

Lena's look as she summarized the story was a hell of a lot more admiring than Gorman's had been when Joan had reported in.

"Work with me," Lena whispered, stepping closer, "and no one else will ever get credit for your work again." The smile returned. Turned suggestive. "I know to appreciate a woman like you."

Which was something else Joan had heard about Lena Smith--albeit quietly and from fewer people. Until that moment, Joan could have sworn that no one was repeating those kinds of stories about her. Then again, a good operative could learn a lot about a person in an hour of conversation, and Lena was one of the best.

Joan wavered for a moment, dizzy on this unexpected tightrope, trying to feel her way past the effects of flattery and attraction to the core of the offer. Lena Smith was a shooting star, just as likely to crash and burn as to blaze bright. And Joan wasn't one to ride anyone's coattail's to success, especially an operative with barely a year's more experience.

But Paul Baker _had_ gotten all of the credit for analyzing the intel she'd collected. And a shooting star could take you up as long as you grabbed on—and let go—at the right time.

Sometimes you had to take a chance.

"All right," Joan said. "I'm in."

Working with Lena Smith was akin to riding a roller coaster, Joan quickly learned. Both the ecstatic highs and terrifying lows multiplied tenfold in intensity and quantity, and while no one could completely eliminate the tedium that characterized day-to-day intelligence work, Lena tried her best.

Technically, Joan wasn't working _for_ Lena; they both reported to Bruce Walker. Walker, however, spent most of his time half-a-continent away and had made it clear that he didn't care what they did as long as they got results.

Lena h ad a similar approach to hierarchies, Joan discovered.

"Lisak has four times as much experience as I do," Joan said. "Shouldn't he be in charge of the Baranski op?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lena scoffed. "We both know you're twice the field operative he is."

"Then why do you keep him around?" Joan asked archly.

Lena smiled enigmatically. "Oh, he has other uses."

Lisak didn't seem to mind; another effect of the Cult of Lena Smith, Joan decided. That was the other thing she had observed early on. The people who worked with Lena worshipped her; it was probably how she'd ended up the _de facto_ team leader despite her own lack of experience. Joan herself hadn't decided how she felt about Lena. She was charismatic and brilliant, certainly, but there was a joy to her recklessness that put Joan on edge. She had to admit, however, that there was something attractive about that air of danger.

"You worry too much about these things," Lena said afterward as they lounged in Lena's apartment. "The best person for the job is the one who should do it. Who cares what it says on paper? It's all just a giant game anyway."

"I care," Joan said reasonably. "For one thing, if you were my boss on paper, I couldn't do this." She leaned over and kissed her.

The look of shock on Lena's face was extremely gratifying; the delight that chased it away even more so. Okay, so maybe Joan had joined the Cult of Lena just a little after all.

The first six months of their operations were a long string of small successes--the kind of network building and intel gathering that slowly and steadily built careers. Joan thought Walker was pleased. Lena was champing at the bit.

"They can't all be big operations," she said, stroking Lena's shoulder.

"Just one," Lena said. She rolled over and folded her arms under her head. "I need just one chance to show them what I can do."

"I'm pretty sure they already know what you can do," Joan said dryly. "I certainly heard enough about you when I got here. Anyway, aren't you the one said it's all a game?"

"It is a game," Lena said. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at Joan. "It's a game I plan to win."

Lena began to shift focus, branching out into other terrorist networks, looking for connections to the Middle East. "That's where the future is," she told Joan. "It's not about states and governments anymore; it's the non-state actors we have to worry about."

Walker seemed happy to let them do it as long as they kept delivering intel and assets. Their budget increased. Operations grew in scope.

"Bigger, but not too big," Lena said. "I want to be able to stay connected."

Privately, Joan thought it was because Lena realized that too big would mean more supervision: possibly a supervisor who didn't belong to the Cult of Lena and who would expect them to actually abide by the official hierarchy instead of the tangle of relationships--all centered around Lena--that defined them now.

Finding time for just the two of them became more challenging as their section grew and the demands on both of them increased. Lena slowly became more distant, and Joan wondered whether it were just the pressure of the job. Once or twice, Joan caught Lena in private conversations with other people--most notably Lisak--that ended as soon as Joan entered the room. She told herself that she was being paranoid, that all spies had secrets, even from their partners. She found herself keeping track of Lena's movements, and scolded herself for it. 

A month later, they delivered a coup in the form of an asset placed in the highest reaches of a particularly secretive network, and Lena was back to her usual affectionate self.

Early the following year, Walker told them he was transferring to Langley. A few days later, Lena told Joan that she was transferring to Ankara. She asked Joan to come with her.

Joan said yes.

 

**Ankara, 1998**

Ankara meant a return to the fold. No more seeking approval after the op was done, or handing out assignments to agents with twice as much seniority. Oddly, Lena didn't seem to mind.

"Things will happen here," she told Joan confidently. "You'll see."

The two of them moved in together, presenting themselves as roommates. Joan was surprised when Lena suggested it--she had always valued her privacy--but her argument that it would be less suspicious than explaining why they were always visiting each other made sense. Officially the routine denial of security clearances to gay and lesbian people had ended two years earlier, but neither of them was eager to test the new policies of tolerance.

A new region meant time spent learning new players, building new contacts, and cultivating new assets. Night after night, they sat side-by-side reading unclassified background material so that they had time to focus on the classified parts during the day. It took Joan until June to start to become confident in her knowledge of the region. In August, that knowledge became urgent.

Word of the bombing spread quickly. Over two-hundred dead, including a dozen Americans, of whom two were Agency personnel. They'd been based in Nairobi; Joan and Lena had known them both.

Everyone threw themselves into the work of tracking down the networks that had sponsored the attacks. When it was traced back to Baku, Joan cursed. 

"How did we miss that?"she asked Lena when they finally returned home.

Lena shrugged. "No one catches everything."

When the bombing investigation had calmed enough for Joan to breathe, she noticed that Lena had withdrawn again. There were no secret conversations this time--or, at least, none that Joan caught--and she was still seemingly affectionate, but something had changed. She was...remote, Joan decided. There and not there all at once. Joan wondered how long it would be before she transferred again, and whether she would ask Joan to go with her.

Operation Black Kite was a mess from the start. Weak intel, ill-defined goals, uncertain connections, all to meet someone who might be able to introduce them to someone who knew someone who might have a connection to a network that had gotten hold of some Cold War weapons. All of it came straight from the top, tagged as a rush job, with no opportunity for either Joan or Lena to offer feedback. The two of them were sent in with two newbies fresh from the Farm, and a strong sense of foreboding.

It only got worse once they were on the ground. No-show guides, faulty maps...and a contact whose friends had apparently decided they could make more money selling CIA agents than dealing with them. There were over a dozen men waiting for them at the meeting point. They didn't stand a chance.

Three days later, bruised and sore, Joan was dumped blindfolded in the woods. She lay still until the sound of her captors' truck died away, then sat up, feeling around for something to cut the ropes binding her hands.

"Hold still," said a familiar voice. "I've got it."

"Lena." 

The ropes fell away, the blindfold came off. Joan fought back tears and looked around the still woods.

"It's just us," Lena said quietly. "Can you stand?"

"Yes." Joan struggled to her feet, rubbing her hands to restore feeling. She gazed around uncertainly.

"There's a road this way," Lena said. "If we follow it west, we'll reach a town in a couple of hours."

"Why did they let us go?" Joan asked. "If they were really looking for information, we'd be the logical ones to keep. Tom and Sean barely know anything."

Lena looked away. "I don't know."

"They didn't say anything to you?" Joan persisted.

"Nothing," Lena said, and kept walking.

Tom's and Sean's bodies were recovered two weeks later. A week after that, two CIA assets in Baku disappeared. There were whispers about the two missing agents. Debates about which one might have broken. If that's what had happened.

"Everyone breaks eventually," Lena said. "You just have to apply the right pressure."

"What happened to you there?" Joan asked. Their captors had mostly kept them apart, only occasionally bringing them together so they could watch each other suffer. Mostly they'd seemed to think screaming without context would be more effective.

"The same thing that happened to you," Lena said. Her bruises supported her story--the two of them matched almost mark for mark--but something about her seemed off to Joan. It wasn't until the next asset turned up dead that Joan understood.

She read the report aghast, then reread it as horrified realization sank in. Then she tracked down Lena. "They didn't know about Eber."

Lena smiled up at Joan from her computer. "Sorry?"

"Tom Browning and Sean McCauley. They didn't know about Eber."

"Eber..."

"They pulled his body from the Ankara yesterday."

"Right," Lena said, smile gone. She stood up and touched Joan's hand. "Maybe Browning and McCauley heard about him from someone. Or maybe he was found out some other way. It happens."

Joan shook her head. "No," she said quietly, suddenly certain. "I think someone told. I think someone revealed Eber's identity, and hoped the blame would fall on the two agents who were left behind."

Lena looked her straight in the eye. "Sometimes survival is a matter of skill. And sometimes it's a matter of luck. We got lucky."

"And that's all it was."

"Yes. We were lucky; they weren't. That's all." 

And that's all there would be, Joan realized. Because Lena was right--assets got caught all the time. There was no evidence. No proof. Just a suspicion she might not even have if she didn't know Lena so very well.

"Okay, then." Joan turned to leave.

"Joan," Lena called after her. 

Joan paused, turned.

"Remember we _both_ survived," Lena said. There was a hint of desperation in her tone. Joan wasn't sure if it was a threat or a plea for understanding. She wasn't sure if Lena knew either.

Joan nodded. "We did," she agreed, and closed the door behind her.

Lena started coming home later and later, staying in the office until all hours, spending days in the field. It took Joan a week to catch Lena long enough to tell her that Joan was transferring to Langley. A promotion. Lena congratulated her with a polite smile and left her to pack alone. She never suggested going with Joan, and Joan never asked.

A year later, Lena was awarded the Intelligence Cross. Joan heard the news in her office in Langley.

 

**D.C., 2012**

Annie sank down slowly. "I have to go." Her voice was quiet, but there was iron in it. 

Joan knew that determination. Had felt its effects, had seen what it could do. If Annie went to Russia, either she or Lena were going to die, and Joan honestly wasn't sure which.

The image of Lena laughing rose unbidden in her mind. Other things followed it, things about which she hadn't thought in a long time. The elation of high-stakes missions. Desert sand beneath her feet. The feel of another woman in her arms. 

Two dead agents in Ankara. Regrets, and helplessness, and trade-offs. 

One life for another. 

A roll of the dice.

"Then I'll support it."


End file.
